Tastic1

Order yourself some food?

I see, but I would say most in WG fiction the characters do not behave in realistic fashion. Do you have much experience with LLM? Could you please give an example of a prompt that would generate better characters?

Not to leap to the defence of a story written by an AI, but this is hardly the least realistic story here. There are indeed women out there who intentionally gain weight and the bequest of their partners. A number of the models here originally gained because their partners asked them too. But yes most women do not want to nearly triple their weight. But this is a corner of the internet where fat is good, and many want to gain. So I don't quite follow your point about the email, @ARM. Can you please explain your point?

Love the "underwear", blue really is your colour.

Thats fair enough. What confused you about the site back then? I'm glad you didn't get that hate too 😀

That's great to hear!

While I'm not sure why we are digging up posts from a decade ago @Lania Fawn. I supported the original proposal to sell content on this site. I believe people have the right to make money wherever and however they can. I do understand frustration in the post, back then the site went from free softcore porn to having to pay, there definitely was a corresponding shift in the content posted by women. Do I wish the content on this site was cheaper? Yes, but purely due to my crap exchange rate. Do I miss the nipples that used to get shown? Again yes, but I understand that changes were required due to the payment vendor.

Guessing this means you are pregnant again. Congratulations 🎉

And it looks like it is having and effect!

Honestly go watch one of @NocturnalDevotion's pole dancing clips. The are amazing!

Absolutely astounding!

Thank you for your patience, here are some "bonus" images. Erin at ~60kg: Erin at ~120kg: Erin at ~160kg:

This is an experiment with AI generation of a WG centric story. It is quite long with 30 Chapters and ~30000 words. I believe it is worth the read. I used Spicy Writer 6.1 through chatgpt. o7. ******* Chapter 1: Strict Portions Erin Collins lived in precise increments—measured almond milk, scheduled runs through Brisbane’s shaded parks, to-do lists in pastel highlighters. She wore her diligence like perfume, subtle but constant, and it followed her into the elevator of her firm’s high-rise building, down into the minimalist kitchen of her West End apartment, even into the gleam of her empty fridge. No room for indulgence. No time for seconds. Her figure—neatly 60kg on a 167cm frame—was the byproduct of that discipline. Tight arms from hot yoga, a stomach flat from years of salad-for-dinner, and hips that still fit jeans from university. She wasn’t vain, exactly. But controlled. Restrained. And a little tired. The firm’s networking event on Friday night was, initially, another checkmark in her schedule. That was before Lucas. She didn’t notice him until halfway through the evening. He wasn’t loud or flashy—just tall, beard like brushed velvet, button-down sleeves rolled to his forearms as he set up the catering trays. Not staff, exactly. A private chef contracted for the night. Erin only stopped beside him because the stuffed mushrooms smelled divine, and she hadn’t had dinner yet. “You should try those,” he said, eyes catching hers just before she looked away. “Little things are addictive.” Erin blinked. “Are they vegetarian?” “Roasted portobello, goat cheese, pine nuts. All friendly.” She plucked one, bit in. Warm, creamy, the tang of cheese balanced with garlic and oil. Her stomach sighed—an audible gurgle in the low buzz of the room—and she flushed. Lucas smiled. “Hunger’s the best compliment,” he said. “Try the risotto balls next. I made them extra cheesy.” She didn’t know how long she lingered. Long enough to sample the fig tartlets, a second risotto ball, some sort of butter-basted scallop that made her toes curl. She should’ve been working the room, talking to associates. Instead she was leaning against a wall beside a man with laugh lines and a food-streaked apron, cheeks warming as she reached for one more bite. “You’ve got a lovely appetite,” he said. It struck her odd, the word lovely paired with appetite. Like they weren’t supposed to go together. “Thanks,” she murmured, and for once, didn’t calculate how many calories she’d just devoured. --- He messaged her three days later. Someone from the firm had passed along her email. Would she be interested in dinner? “Proper dinner,” he wrote. “Where you don’t leave hungry.” Her instinct was to say no. Weeknights were for meal prep and sleep. But her fridge held only hummus and regret, and the word hungry stirred something deep and reluctant. She said yes. He met her outside a cozy bistro in New Farm, blue button-down and sleeves again rolled, a light beard framing a grin that softened her spine. They sat outside under warm bulbs, and he ordered for them like a man confident in his craft. Bread with herb butter. Gnocchi in cream sauce. Seared lamb, beet salad glazed in honey-balsamic. A bottle of red wine to split. She hadn’t eaten this heavily in months, and it showed. Halfway through the lamb, she leaned back, conscious of her waistband, belly just starting to swell against the fit of her blouse. “I’m full,” she admitted with a little laugh, cheeks pink. “You stopped too early, then,” he teased. “Dessert’s the best part.” She hesitated, fork twirling idly against the rim of her plate. “I’m not usually… this indulgent.” Lucas shrugged. “You should be. I like watching you enjoy yourself.” Her stomach fluttered—different from hunger this time. His gaze wasn’t lewd, just warm. Appreciative. Like her pleasure was something to be proud of. She ordered the chocolate lava cake. And when it came, thick with ganache and whipped cream, she devoured nearly all of it, moaning softly around each hot, gooey bite. He leaned forward, chin in hand, watching her with a reverent smile. “You’re beautiful when you eat.” It was such a simple sentence. But it unlocked something in her. She hadn’t been called beautiful without a string of qualifiers in years. Not fit. Not slim. Just… beautiful. Here. Now. With sauce on her lip and her belly bloated under the table. She touched her stomach absently, then stilled, embarrassed. But Lucas saw. His eyes dipped, lingered. And he didn’t flinch. “Come by sometime,” he said, paying the bill before she could offer. “I’ll cook you something you can’t resist.” She was full, heavy-lidded, giddy. She said yes again. --- At home, later, she undressed slowly. Her blouse clung around her ribs before she tugged it off. Her belly—slightly rounded, just barely—felt foreign, soft from fullness. She ran her fingers across it, unsure. She wasn’t bloated like after a protein bar and seltzer. She was fed. Replete. And the feeling wasn’t shameful. It was… good. She stared at herself in the mirror, hand resting on the gentle swell. Her stomach let out a low, content gurgle. She laughed aloud. Lovely, he’d said. She licked chocolate from her finger and smiled. Chapter 2: Seconds Lucas’s apartment was perched just above a bakery in Paddington, the smell of morning croissants soaked into the bricks. Erin arrived in a navy dress that clung a little more tightly than she remembered. Not enough to alarm her—just enough that she noticed. The thought snagged in her mind, unspooled slowly as she climbed the narrow stairwell, butterflies brushing against the walls of her chest. The door opened before she could knock twice. He greeted her with a smile and the scent of caramelized onions and something buttery. She stepped inside to find the table already set—thick cloth napkins, real silverware, candles flickering despite the early evening light. “Wow,” she murmured. “I had the day off,” he said. “Thought I’d spoil you.” He wasn’t wearing the apron tonight—just dark jeans and a soft charcoal tee that hugged his chest in ways her imagination had already sketched and shaded. He handed her a glass of white wine, kissed her cheek, then guided her to sit. The chair creaked a little under her as she settled, crossing her legs and adjusting her dress across her thighs. Dinner came in waves. Creamy spinach-stuffed chicken breasts wrapped in prosciutto. Truffle mashed potatoes that melted in her mouth. Green beans glistening with garlic and butter. She wasn’t prepared for the portions—he served her plate generously, then again, and once more when he noticed her fork hesitating just before empty. “Go on,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “There’s plenty.” “I shouldn’t…” she started, already reaching for more. “Who says?” The second helping was even better. Her stomach was already starting to protest slightly, but the flavors were too lush, the mood too warm. She gave in, bite by bite, until her plate was clean. Then came dessert—a dense vanilla bean cheesecake he’d made himself. One slice. Then another. Her belly pressed firm against the waistband of her dress now, and she tried to shift subtly in her seat, knees parting just slightly for space. Lucas noticed. “You alright?” he asked, grin lazy and satisfied. “I’m stuffed.” He leaned in, elbows on the table, fingers folding beneath his chin. “Looks good on you.” Erin felt her breath catch. She hadn’t expected it—his eyes sliding slowly down her body, the faint flush rising across her chest. No leering. No predatory hunger. Just... delight. A slow-burning appreciation, like he was looking at a painting that had just come to life. “I ate more than I have in weeks,” she murmured, fingers trailing the outline of her plate. “You enjoyed more than you have in weeks.” There was a pause. Thick and soft with meaning. His eyes caught hers again, and her heart pounded a little faster. “You’re allowed to enjoy things,” he said. “You don’t have to earn pleasure.” She swallowed. Not from nerves—but because something cracked open deep in her chest. How long had it been since someone framed pleasure as her right? Not a reward. Not something to deserve or bargain for. “Do you… say that to all your dinner guests?” she asked, voice teasing. “No,” Lucas said simply. “Just the ones who make moaning noises when they taste my potatoes.” Her cheeks flamed. But she didn’t deny it. Because she had moaned. Softly, unconsciously, when the truffle hit her tongue. He stood, walked around behind her, his hand grazing her shoulder as he passed. She tensed slightly, not from fear—but from the sudden awareness of how full she was. How vulnerable, in this body not quite used to being this fed. His fingertips brushed down her arm as he leaned to whisper: “You’re incredible.” Goosebumps prickled along her skin. Lucas kissed her cheek again, slower this time, closer to the edge of her mouth. Then pulled away. “I’ll pack you some leftovers,” he said. Erin sat still for a moment after he left the room, her hand resting on her stomach, belly taut beneath the cling of fabric. She felt heavy. Full. Relaxed. Desired. Not once had he commented on calories. Not once had she felt the need to apologize for going back for seconds. The leftovers came in a soft cloth tote, neatly arranged in glass containers. She held it against her middle as she left, like a gift box, warm and fragrant. He kissed her again at the door. Lips lingering longer. She swayed a little when they broke apart. --- At home, she peeled off her dress and stood in the mirror in just her underwear. Her belly curved forward slightly, round from fullness. She’d always had a flat stomach. This version of herself was unfamiliar. She touched the swell with both hands, lifting slightly, pressing in. Her breath hitched. She wasn’t bloated. She wasn’t sick. She was... sated. Her thighs looked softer, too. Or maybe they always had. She turned, inspecting herself from the side. Her bra straps dug a little into her shoulders. Her cheeks looked flushed, fuller. She still looked like herself—but more. Just... more. She wasn’t sure what she felt. Not guilt, not quite. But heat. A hum that started low and refused to fade. She reached into the leftover tote, pulled out a sealed ramekin of extra cheesecake. Ate it with her fingers in the kitchen, standing in the dim fridge light. Her belly groaned softly. She smiled. Chapter 3: Loosening Belts Monday morning came sharp and cold. Erin stood in front of her wardrobe, towel cinched beneath her arms, hair wet and dripping onto her shoulders as she sorted through hangers. She reached for her go-to pencil skirt, black and precise. The zipper stuck halfway. She exhaled, sucked in slightly, tried again. No dice. She tried the maroon one. Better luck—but it sat tighter than she remembered, hugging her waist in a way that pressed insistently into her stomach. Her blouse, usually loose, clung just slightly over her midsection. She frowned at the mirror. Her belly wasn’t flat this morning. Not after last night’s second dessert. She shifted, turning side to side. It wasn’t dramatic. A hint of softness where before had been taut. But enough. She hadn’t skipped the gym in months. This morning, she had. She told herself it was for sleep. She told herself the ache in her stomach was just digestion, not change. She grabbed a cardigan and buttoned it halfway, letting the rest drape over her hips. At work, no one commented. The team was buried in deadlines. Still, she sat more carefully, aware of the waistband pressing into her sides as she typed. Her mind kept drifting. To the leftovers in her fridge. To Lucas’s hands brushing her wrist as he passed her the cheesecake. To the way his voice dipped when he said, Looks good on you. The words echoed like a refrain. --- By Wednesday, she’d canceled her morning gym twice. She wasn’t lazy—she was busy. Reports to finish, emails piling up. When the girl in accounting offered a leftover birthday cupcake, Erin surprised herself by saying yes. It was good. Fluffy. Icing thick and sweet. Her stomach sighed when she was done. A ripple of something warm moved through her. Enjoyment, she thought. Lucas would approve. That evening, he texted her. LUCAS: Still thinking about how you looked Saturday. You around Friday? I want to make you something ridiculous. Her heart fluttered. She waited ten minutes before replying, pretended to be casual. ERIN: Only if it’s absolutely excessive. His response came immediately. LUCAS: Baby, that’s the only kind of food I make. --- Friday night. She wore leggings—black, forgiving, high-waisted. A loose tee that dipped low over her chest. She’d noticed, in the mirror before she left, that her breasts looked fuller. Rounder. She wasn’t sure if it was the angle. Or the effect of skipping salads all week. Lucas greeted her barefoot, in soft sweats and an apron. The smell of butter and wine hung thick in the air. She walked in and her stomach grumbled audibly. “You’re early,” he teased. “Or just really hungry.” “Perfect.” He made pasta—ribbons of pappardelle tangled with cream, wild mushrooms, and caramelized onions. Parmesan shaved over the top, thick as snow. Garlic bread that crackled when torn. She ate slowly at first. Then faster. His eyes on her the entire time, watching like he was memorizing each chew. By the time she set her fork down, she was flushed and leaning back, belly rounding gently into the curve of her shirt. Lucas reached across the table and placed his hand, warm and casual, on the side of her stomach. “You really let yourself enjoy it,” he murmured. She swallowed. “I think I’m starting to like feeling full.” He smiled. “That’s the best part.” They moved to the couch. She settled carefully, belly taut, legs curled under. He sat beside her and without asking, laid a hand on her hip. Then slowly, reverently, dragged his fingers across the top of her stomach. “Soft,” he whispered. “And getting softer.” Her breath caught. “I’m gonna get fat, aren’t I?” Lucas’s eyes darkened—not with concern, but heat. “I hope so.” It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t mocking. It was desire. Laid bare. She didn’t answer. Just tilted her head, let her shirt ride up an inch. His hand moved lower, across the subtle swell she’d been ignoring all week. Her belly rose and fell beneath his touch, breath shallow. “I like the way you’re changing,” he said. “I like that you’re letting go.” Her voice was barely audible. “I’ve always held back.” “Don’t.” --- That night, she went home heavier. Not in guilt. In fullness. In a belly that curved forward beneath her tank top as she lay in bed, hand drifting down to trace the change. A tiny crease at her waistband. A softness blooming where there’d once been strictness. She didn’t go to the gym the next morning. She didn’t open MyFitnessPal. She stood naked in front of the mirror, belly relaxed, thighs touching, breasts plush. She whispered, just once, to herself: “Looks good on you.” Chapter 4: Eating Without Apology Saturday sun washed Erin’s apartment in gold. She stirred awake slower than usual, the weight of indulgence still nestled deep in her belly. Her sheets were tangled around her legs, her nightshirt stretched gently over her chest. She lay there a moment, fingers grazing the curve where her waist once tapered in sharper. A knock. Then the unmistakable chirp of a key in the lock. Only one person had that key. “Smells like you slept heavy,” Lucas’s voice teased from the hallway. Erin smirked and dragged herself out of bed, padding barefoot into the kitchen. He was already unpacking a paper bag bulging with baked goods. Muffins, croissants, two cinnamon scrolls thick with icing. She raised an eyebrow. “You rob a bakery?” “Nope. I told them it was for a very hungry woman who needs a morning feast.” She cocked her head. “What if I told you I’m still full from last night?” He grinned, held up a danish. “Then I’d call you a beautiful liar.” She tried to scowl—but the smell of almond pastry was already unraveling her resistance. They sat on the couch, food spread across the coffee table. Erin ate slowly at first. A nibble of croissant, then half the danish. But Lucas kept sliding things toward her—breaking off pieces, offering them to her fingers or her lips, never forcing, just tempting. She watched him as she chewed. His gaze never left her mouth, her belly, the little winces she gave when she leaned back, full and flushed. Somewhere between the second muffin and the cinnamon scroll, Erin gave a low, involuntary moan. Her shirt had ridden up again, exposing the under-curve of her stomach. “God,” she whispered, rubbing the dome of her gut, “I should be ashamed of this.” Lucas leaned in. “Are you?” She looked at him. Her lips were slick with icing, her face warm. “No,” she said softly. “That’s the weird part. I’m not.” Lucas kissed her, deeply, slow, then bent and pressed his lips to the side of her belly. The wet sound made her gasp. “You’re not meant to be ashamed,” he murmured against her skin. “You’re meant to feel good.” She shifted, belly sloshing faintly with the motion, the pressure delicious and just shy of too much. “I’ve spent my whole adult life tracking macros. Saying no to cake. Passing on bread.” “And?” “I never felt this... alive.” He nuzzled her middle. “Keep going, then.” --- Later, belly heavy and stretched, she laid on the rug in front of him, one hand resting on the crest of her fullness. Lucas sat behind her, running fingers along her sides, worshipping every new soft swell. “You’re starting to change,” he said, voice almost reverent. “Just a little. Enough to notice.” She breathed out, slow and steady. “Tell me.” “Your belly rounds out more. Your hips have this plush curve when you sit. And your face—” he leaned forward, kissed her cheek—“you’re glowing.” “Fat girls aren’t supposed to glow,” she joked. “You’re not a fat girl yet,” he corrected. “You’re a girl learning to stop shrinking.” The words hit hard. Erin blinked up at the ceiling, her fingers unconsciously stroking her bare stomach. She remembered dinners with colleagues, how she used to push food around her plate to avoid looking greedy. Family holidays where she passed on seconds to prove she had self-control. The praise she’d gotten for ‘eating like a bird.’ And none of it had made her feel even a fraction as whole as this quiet morning of sweet rolls and stolen kisses. She turned over, kneeling slowly, belly drooping slightly between her thighs. Lucas watched her with heat and awe. She crawled into his lap, pressing her heavy stomach against his chest. “Do you think I’m beautiful like this?” she asked softly. Lucas’s hands came up around her hips, gripping them gently. “More than beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re delicious.” --- That night, she sat on her bed in underwear and a worn tank top, eating the last of the danishes straight from the bag. Her stomach already protested, taut and round. But she was smiling, lips dusted with powdered sugar. No calorie counting. No guilt. Just the soft, warm hum of pleasure. And the knowledge that tomorrow, she'd be a little softer still. Chapter 5: First Gain The scale blinked at her. 63.1 kilograms. Erin’s stomach tensed reflexively, a flash of old panic sparking in her chest—but only briefly. Three kilos up from her usual baseline. It wasn’t catastrophic. It wasn’t even surprising. Not after two weeks of second helpings, buttery breakfasts, and Lucas murmuring encouragement into the creases of her growing belly. Still, seeing the number was different. It made the change real. She stared at it a moment longer, then stepped down, toes curling on the cold tile. Her body felt a little different—heavier in odd places. The soft undercurve of her belly brushed against her thighs more now. Her hips didn’t quite slide into her jeans as easily as before. Her bras had started to dig a little at the clasp. She picked up her phone. ERIN: Weigh-in this morning. Up 3. LUCAS: Only 3? Her breath caught at the words. Simple. Bold. Not a trace of judgment. If anything—disappointment? ERIN: I thought that’d freak you out. LUCAS: Baby. I’ve been hoping for it. She stared at the screen, heart hammering. LUCAS: You’re finally feeding your hunger. It suits you. ERIN: You mean my belly? LUCAS: All of it. The appetite. The glow. The little jiggle when you laugh. It’s like you’re blooming. --- That evening, Erin wore her yoga pants and an oversized hoodie. She wasn’t hiding—but she was thinking. Feeling every inch of new softness when she moved. When she walked to the mirror and peeled her hoodie up, her belly crested forward—rounder, not just bloated. A thin line marked where her waistband had sat all day. Three kilos. Visible. Real. She should’ve felt guilty. Instead, she pressed her hands to her belly and gently lifted it. Let it fall. Watched it wobble slightly, settle. She bit her lip. The doorbell rang. Lucas greeted her with a grin and a container of creamy mushroom risotto, still hot. “You’re glowing,” he said as she let him in. “Because I’m up three kilos?” “Because you’re not hiding it.” She set the food on the table and turned to him. “You really don’t mind?” Lucas stepped closer. His hand rose, cupped the side of her belly through the thin fabric of her hoodie. “Mind?” he whispered. “Erin, I’ve been fantasizing about this.” Her breath hitched. He gently tugged the hoodie up, baring her stomach. He looked at it like a man starved. “I can see it,” he murmured. “Just a little extra curve. Right here.” His thumb stroked the underside. “And here.” A finger skimmed over her hip. “It’s only the beginning.” Something deep inside her fluttered. She was standing, half undressed, belly soft and on display—and instead of recoiling, she felt heat surge between her thighs. --- They ate together on the couch, the risotto creamy and rich, each bite heavier than the last. Lucas fed her occasionally, lifting a spoon to her lips with a lazy affection. Erin didn't hold back. By the time she scraped the bottom of the container, she was slumped slightly, belly taut beneath her shirt. She groaned, one hand settling protectively over the swell. “Lucas…” “You’re full,” he murmured, kissing her neck. “I’m stuffed.” He shifted behind her, pulling her back into his chest. His hand drifted over her belly again, fingertips tracing slow, reverent circles. “Good,” he whispered. “Get used to it.” --- Later, as she lay on her side, belly heavy against the mattress, she opened her phone again and stared at the number. 63.1 kg. She didn’t feel shame. She didn’t feel panic. She felt possibility. And hunger. Again. Chapter 6: More Than Enough Erin’s belly still hadn’t quite gone down by morning. She lay sprawled across her sheets, tank top bunched under her breasts, her stomach rising like a soft hill beneath the blanket. It felt... full. Not painful. Just plush. Heavy in a new way. She rubbed it absently, fingers brushing over the faint red marks her waistband had left the day before. She didn't recoil. In fact, something about the ache, the visible impression of overindulgence, made her thighs squeeze together under the sheets. ERIN: Woke up still full. LUCAS: Mmm. Good girl. You’re learning what it means to be satisfied. The words tightened something deep in her chest. She could practically hear his voice saying it aloud—low, coaxing, and full of that hunger he never tried to hide. LUCAS: Come over tonight. Let’s make sure you stay full. --- She was nervous, all day. A warm, fluttering nervous, like the anticipation of a secret date. She didn’t eat lunch. Not because she was dieting—but because she wanted to be ravenous for him. At six, she showed up at his apartment in a wrap dress that used to hang loose. Now, it clung gently at the waist and cupped the swell of her belly when she exhaled too hard. Her thighs brushed with every step. Lucas opened the door and just stared. “Jesus,” he whispered. Erin blushed. “Too much?” He stepped forward, fingers trailing down the side of her belly where the fabric cinched. “Not even close.” She stepped inside to the smell of garlic, rosemary, butter. A roast chicken glistening on the counter, a mountain of potatoes drowned in cream, and something sweet already cooling on the stovetop. “Did you invite the army?” “Nope,” he said. “Just you. And your appetite.” --- Dinner started slow. One plate—then another. Erin moaned through every bite, her body growing heavier with each swallow. Lucas refilled her wine. Fed her bites with his fingers. By the time the chicken was gone and the potatoes had barely a scoop left, Erin leaned back, belly pressing firmly into the table’s edge. She rubbed it with both hands. “God. I shouldn’t…” He raised a brow. “Shouldn’t what?” “Still want dessert.” Lucas smiled like a wolf. “Baby, I planned for that.” He brought out the dish: thick, caramel-soaked bread pudding still steaming, the top crackling with sugar. She groaned. “You’re trying to kill me.” “I’m trying to make you melt.” He spooned the first bite into her mouth himself. She sighed. And another. And another. Until her breathing turned shallow, and her belly pressed so insistently against her dress that she reached under the table, undid the wrap tie, and let the fabric fall loose around her. Lucas watched, nearly panting. “There she is,” he whispered. Erin let the dress fall open fully, her belly freed, round and flushed. She slouched into the chair, thick thighs parted, fullness blooming through her core like fire. Lucas knelt in front of her. Placed both hands on her belly and kissed it. Soft at first. Then deeper, more urgent. She moaned. “You liked being full last night, didn’t you?” he murmured against her skin. She nodded, too breathless to speak. “And tonight?” A shaky exhale. “More.” He grinned. “Good.” --- Later, she lay on his bed, totally bare, belly a proud, distended swell against the sheets. Lucas lay beside her, spooning her from behind, hand cupping the underside of her stomach like it was sacred. “I want more of this,” she whispered. “More food?” “More of you making me like this.” He groaned into her neck. “Then baby, you’re in trouble. Because I’m just getting started.” Chapter 7: First Stuffing The air inside Lucas’s apartment smelled of sugar, cinnamon, and something darker—molasses maybe, or rum. Erin’s stomach grumbled before she’d even closed the door. It was Pavlovian now: Lucas meant food. Lucas meant surrender. She kicked off her flats, already flushed, and padded into the kitchen. Her dress was tight around the hips and waist, the same wrap style she'd worn before—but even after loosening the tie, it still clung. There was no hiding how full she'd been keeping herself. Lucas was waiting, leaning against the counter with a satisfied grin, a towel slung over his shoulder, and a towering pile of food cooling beside him: stacks of thick waffles dripping with syrup, fried chicken glistening golden-brown, a bubbling mac and cheese casserole, a jug of milkshake dense enough to chew, and a cheesecake so massive it looked defiant. Erin blinked. “You’re insane.” Lucas only stepped closer. “You hungry?” “I mean, yes—but…” Her hands gestured helplessly. “That could feed a football team.” He smirked and kissed her cheek. “It’s just for you. I want to see how far you can go.” Erin’s breath caught. She'd eaten too much for Lucas before. But this… this felt different. Deliberate. A challenge. An invitation. Her stomach tightened in anticipation. They started with the chicken. Lucas made her sit on the couch with a pillow behind her back and a towel across her lap like a bib. He brought each piece to her, fingers sticky with grease, feeding her one crispy bite at a time. She didn’t have to move. Didn’t have to think. Just chew. Swallow. Moan. The mac and cheese followed—thick, creamy, and almost too rich. Erin groaned halfway through the bowl, shifting in her seat. Her belly was beginning to firm up, the fullness already rising under her dress. Lucas rubbed her thigh. “Still with me?” “I—I think so,” she panted. “Then drink.” He handed her the milkshake. Cold, sweet, and so thick she had to suck hard on the straw. She felt it sit heavy in her stomach like cement. By the time she reached the waffles, her body was slow. Each bite required focus. Her breathing was short. The top of her belly brushed the edge of her bra, round and flushed. When she leaned back, the fabric pulled tight across her chest and upper gut. Lucas unwrapped the dress for her without a word. Her soft, strained belly spilled out in waves, red and bloated and beautiful. “Oh god,” she groaned, resting both hands on it. “Lucas…” He knelt between her thighs. “You’re doing perfect.” “I’m so full…” “I know, baby. That’s the point.” The cheesecake was last. She couldn’t sit upright anymore. Lucas propped her sideways against pillows, one leg draped lazily over his lap, her belly spilling onto her thighs. He spooned each bite into her mouth—soft, cool, impossibly sweet. She whimpered with each swallow, her stomach fighting for space. “Tell me how it feels,” he whispered. “Heavy,” she gasped. “So… fucking tight.” He cupped her belly in both hands, lifting it slightly to feel its weight. It gurgled, distended and tight as a drum. He kissed the dome, then again lower, into the dip of her navel. “You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Greedy. Glowing. Glutted.” Her thighs trembled. “Lucas…” “Say it.” She moaned. “I’m stuffed. I’m stuffed—like a pig.” He groaned low in his throat and kissed her hard. She dozed in his bed later, completely bare, stretched out like a feast herself. Her belly domed high, a monument to indulgence, and Lucas lay beside her tracing lazy circles around her navel with one hand. “You let me,” he said softly. She turned her head. “Let you what?” “Feed you. Stuff you. Stretch you.” Erin’s voice was drowsy and full. “I liked it.” “Enough to do it again?” She looked at him, eyes heavy. “More than enough.” Chapter 8: Snug Fit It started with her jeans. The pair she always reached for on autopilot—mid-rise, dark denim, forgiving enough to carry her through bloated days. But this time, tugging them over her hips took effort. She lay back on the bed, sucked in, and still… the zipper wouldn’t budge. Her belly resisted, soft and proud, folding slightly as it pressed upward under the strain. She exhaled, sat up, and the button popped off with a pathetic little ping, bouncing somewhere under her dresser. Erin blinked. Then, inexplicably, she laughed. Not out of embarrassment. But at the absurdity of it. She couldn’t remember the last time her clothes had failed her. Not like this. Not undeniably. Her belly spilled into her lap now, not just when she was full, but in the morning too. Her thighs kissed at the tops. Her arms jiggled slightly when she reached for things. And none of it felt wrong. It felt earned. --- The boutique downtown had always intimidated her—skinny mannequins, judgmental salesgirls, lighting that exposed every flaw. But now she walked in with a different kind of confidence. She knew she wouldn’t find her size on the first rack anymore. That was the point. Lucas waited outside, pretending to scroll his phone. But he was watching through the window, and she knew it. She tried on a mustard-colored bodycon dress first, two sizes up from her usual. The fabric hugged her everywhere—breasts, belly, hips—and stopped short mid-thigh, exposing a curve of soft leg. She turned sideways in the mirror and gasped. Her belly jutted forward clearly now, round and pillowy. Not just food bloat. Not just softness. Weight. When she stepped out to show him, Lucas’s jaw went slack. “Holy fuck,” he murmured. Erin twirled slowly, pretending to model. “Too much?” He stood. Walked straight to her. His hands slid from her back to her waist, then down to cradle the underside of her belly, warm through the thin fabric. “I could eat you alive,” he growled. She flushed, thighs clenching. “You’re keeping this,” he added. “In every color.” --- At dinner afterward, she wore the dress. She made herself wear it, despite the way it clung, despite the way her belly curved boldly over the waistband. And when they walked into the restaurant, Lucas’s hand stayed possessively on the small of her back. She felt the stares. But she didn’t shrink. They ordered bread. Two baskets. Erin ate most of it. Then pasta—creamy, decadent, swimming in cheese. She asked for extra parmesan. And dessert. She made Lucas split one with her, though he hardly got any bites in. She was too hungry. Too high from the feeling. Full, again, but not breathless. Just steady. Sure. Growing. --- Later, in the cab home, she leaned her head on Lucas’s shoulder, her belly pressed between them, round and unrelenting. “You don’t think it’s too fast?” she murmured. He turned, brushing her hair from her face. “I think you’re finally catching up to what you want.” She looked down at herself. The outline of her belly bulged through the dress. She imagined herself six months from now. A year. Double this. A twinge of fear. A shiver of arousal. “I’ll need new pants,” she whispered. Lucas’s hand slid over the curve of her gut. “You’ll need a whole new wardrobe.” Chapter 9: Softening It was her reflection that betrayed her first. Sunday morning light spilled across the bathroom floor, warm and unhurried. Erin stood wrapped in a towel, hair damp from the shower, idly brushing her teeth—until she caught herself in the mirror. She froze. Not just the slight bloat from last night’s overindulgent curry. Not a one-off puffiness from PMS. No. This was real. Her belly hung softer now, no longer just a firm roundness from eating but a cushion of plush weight that rested over the waistband of any underwear she dared try. Her hips curved wider, thighs brushing almost constantly, and her upper arms had taken on a dimpled softness that gave them a gentle, maternal sway. Her face looked different too—rounder, cheekbones softened, lips poutier somehow without even trying. She blinked. Reached up, pressed two fingers against the side of her neck. It was the same Erin. But more. More. --- Lucas came by with coffee and croissants, still warm in the bag. She was wearing a thin robe, loosely tied, and nothing else. She hadn’t planned it. Or maybe she had. He handed her a pastry. “You always feed me when I’ve just eaten,” she said, nibbling anyway. Lucas leaned against the counter, eyes dragging over her in slow appreciation. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” “It’s reckless,” she smirked, then took a bigger bite. He moved behind her, slid his arms around her waist—and they couldn’t quite meet in front. His hands rested against her belly instead, pressing in gently. “Reckless,” he whispered into her ear, “would be not showing off all this.” She flushed, leaned back into him. “I’ve never been this soft before.” “I know.” His voice dropped. “I love it.” He turned her in his arms, letting the robe gape open. Her belly jiggled softly with the movement, round and clearly there now, no longer disguised by posture or fabric. Lucas cupped her breasts, heavier and fuller than ever, then ran both hands slowly down her sides, pausing at the belly’s swell. “You’re changing,” he said reverently. “I know,” she murmured. “I feel it every day.” --- They didn’t leave the house. He spent hours worshipping her new softness. Erin lay sprawled across the sheets, body exposed and heavy from both food and heat, her belly pillowed out to the sides. Lucas kissed every inch. He squeezed her thighs—thick, dimpled, lush—and left marks along her love handles with his mouth. Her body gave under his touch, a landscape of yielding flesh. She wasn’t just growing. She was transforming. --- That night, she lay beside him, hand tracing lazy circles around her own belly. “Did you ever think…” she began, “you’d fall for someone like this?” Lucas glanced at her. “Like what?” She grabbed a fold at her side and jiggled it teasingly. “You know. A girl who eats like a beast. Who outgrows all her clothes. Who’s getting bigger and hungrier every week.” He rolled on top of her, weight pressing into her softness. “Erin,” he whispered, “I prayed for someone like you." Chapter 10: Desire Dinner had been obscene. Lucas had outdone himself: garlic butter lobster tails, whipped potatoes layered in cream and chives, roasted vegetables slick with olive oil, and a double batch of dark chocolate mousse—dense, velvety, almost sinful. Erin had devoured it all. Slowly at first, politely. Then with greedy abandon. She leaned back now on the living room sofa, legs spread to accommodate the weight of her belly, which strained proudly against her pale silk nightgown. It used to hang loose on her. Now it clung like a second skin, hugging the underside of her belly, riding up over her hips. Her breathing was shallow. Her hands rested atop the dome of her gut, stroking gently, almost hypnotically. She could feel the food churning inside—warm, heavy, thrilling. Lucas watched her from the floor, kneeling between her legs like a worshipper at the altar. He looked hungry in a different way. “You’re insatiable,” he murmured. “I’m full,” she panted, lips slick, face flushed. “So fucking full…” “But not satisfied.” She bit her lip. “No.” His fingers trailed under the hem of the nightgown. “Tell me.” She arched her back, belly lifting with the motion. “I want more.” “More food?” Her laugh was breathless. “More you.” --- They made love there—right on the couch, without pretense. Erin was too heavy to move much, too swollen to be agile. Lucas moved around her, reverent, slow, hands never leaving the soft curve of her middle. He pressed kisses into her belly, cradled the underside of it as he entered her. Her moans were low, hoarse, animal. “Look at you,” he whispered against her mouth, “look how big you’re getting…” She nodded, eyes wide, panting. “It turns you on, doesn’t it?” “More than anything.” She let herself feel it, fully—every inch of her softness, every pound of gain, every decadent meal behind her and every one ahead. The sweat between her thighs. The jiggle of her breasts. The way her stuffed belly pinned her down, made her helpless and begging. She’d never felt so wanted. So powerful. So desired. --- Afterward, they lay tangled together. Lucas spooned her from behind, one arm heavy around her waist, hand draped possessively across her belly. It rose and fell beneath his palm, a monument to their shared appetite. She murmured, “I think I like this…” Lucas kissed the back of her neck. “I know.” She nestled into him, greedy for more. For tomorrow. For the next bite. For the next milestone. Her hunger had only begun. Chapter 11: Feeder Erin held the spoon between her fingers, wrist limp, a smear of Nutella and cream clinging to its curve. Her lips were parted. Her eyes gleamed. Lucas guided her hand slowly toward her mouth, fingers wrapped around hers. “Open.” She obeyed. The mousse was thick and cold, bursting over her tongue in sweet, velvety weight. She moaned as she swallowed. Her belly, already heavy from dinner, gurgled in response—loud enough to make them both pause. Then she giggled. “I’m gonna explode,” she whispered. Lucas leaned in, his voice low. “That’s the idea.” --- They were in his kitchen, but barely. Erin was perched on a barstool, though “perched” was generous. She overflowed it now—soft thighs pillowing over the sides, her belly pushing forward, dress rucked up beneath the weight of her fullness. She’d eaten enough pasta for two. Then tiramisu. Now mousse. Lucas hadn’t touched a bite. He’d just… watched. Erin licked the spoon clean. “You didn’t eat,” she said softly. “I did,” he replied, brushing chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “You just swallowed it all for me.” --- Later, on the couch, it happened. Lucas was rubbing her distended middle, slow circles, the glow of the TV flickering over her flushed skin. Her nightgown was pushed up to her breasts, belly on full display. Her breathing had slowed, sleepy and thick. She was at her limit—her body limp from food, from weight, from surrender. And she whispered, “Do you like doing this?” Lucas paused. “Feeding you?” She nodded, barely. Her lids were heavy. He exhaled, forehead touching hers. “I love it.” Her eyes fluttered open. “Say it again.” “I love feeding you. I love seeing you full. I love this belly. I love how you eat for me. How you grow for me.” Erin bit her lip. Her thighs clenched, belly quivering slightly against his hand. “I think I want that,” she breathed. “More of it.” Lucas’s voice was barely controlled. “More?” She turned, rolled slowly toward him, her belly dragging against his side. “I want to be fed. Really fed. On purpose. I want to see what happens if I just… stop holding back. Let you guide me.” Lucas sat up straight, breath ragged. “You want to be mine. My feedee.” Erin looked at him with a wicked smile. “I already am.” Chapter 12: Clothes Shopping The boutique had changed. Or rather, she had. The air-conditioned hush, the soft lights, the too-thin mannequins—none of it intimidated her the way it used to. Erin stepped between the racks of plus-size styles with a hand resting casually on the crest of her belly. She was nearly unrecognizable from the woman she’d been three months ago. She was up nearly 20 kilos. She could feel it everywhere. Lucas trailed behind her, openly admiring the way her ass wobbled in her too-tight leggings, how her hips swayed more dramatically now with every step. She caught his gaze in a mirror and grinned. “Enjoying the view?” “God, yes,” he muttered, his voice thick. She pulled a red velvet dress from the rack, one that promised to hug everything. “Think this’ll fit?” Lucas raised an eyebrow. “I hope it barely does.” In the changing room, she peeled off her top and bra, revealing the slow cascade of her growing figure. Her breasts were fuller, pendulous now, with soft stretch marks barely visible near the curve. Her belly was heavy and round, folding at the bottom where it pooled onto her thighs. Her love handles had deepened, and her back rolled softly at the edges. The mirror showed all of it. And she didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped into the dress. It clung—tighter than expected. Her belly stretched the fabric across her middle, dimpling the velvet. Her thighs filled the skirt completely. The zipper refused to budge past her waist. “Lucas,” she called out. The curtain rustled open and he stepped in. The room shrank. His breath caught as he took her in: flushed, struggling to dress herself, stuffed into a size she’d already outgrown. Her belly jutted between them like a promise. Her thighs brushed. Her arms were thick and soft and begging to be touched. “Help,” she said playfully, hands on her hips. He stepped closer, tugged at the zipper, groaned as it resisted. “I think you’re too big for this one,” he whispered, voice tight. “Already?” She grinned, feigning surprise. “Guess I’m growing faster than I thought.” He bent and pressed his mouth to the swell of her belly, right where it curved into a roll. She gasped. His hands gripped her ass. “You’re a dream,” he murmured into her skin. “My growing, greedy, beautiful girl.” They left with four dresses—all a size bigger. She insisted on wearing one home. In the passenger seat, her belly pressed into the seatbelt, the new dress stretched tight across her curves. She tugged the belt off entirely. “Doesn’t fit anymore,” she said innocently. Lucas's hand landed on her thigh, squeezing. “You’ll outgrow this one too,” he said. “And the next. I’ll keep dressing you… and undressing you.” Erin leaned back, full and proud. “Promise?” Chapter 13: Feeding Rituals It began subtly. A cupcake left on the nightstand each morning. A second helping nudged her way before she could ask. Lucas’s voice behind her as she stood at the fridge: “Don’t even think about salad. I’m already preheating the oven.” Then it turned into ritual. They called it “pancake mornings.” Erin would stay in bed, barely clothed, belly exposed beneath a threadbare tee, while Lucas brought plate after plate—stacked high, soaked in butter and syrup, crowned with whipped cream. He sat beside her as she ate, stroking her thigh, kissing her lips between bites. The first stack vanished in ten minutes. She burped softly behind her hand. Lucas grinned. “Still hungry?” She hesitated—then nodded. “Feed me.” And so he did. --- Evenings became sacred too. After work, Erin would come in tired and flushed, dropping her bag and stripping off tight office clothes that didn’t quite fit. Lucas had dinner ready—always too much, always rich. Pasta drowning in cheese, fried chicken with thick gravy, casseroles bubbling at the edges. She’d collapse into his lap and eat like she hadn’t all day. And maybe she hadn’t. Some days, she saved her appetite. Just for him. Just for this. --- Sunday stuffings were the main event. Lucas prepared feasts. Three, sometimes four courses. Erin dressed for it—tight dresses that lifted her growing breasts, skirts that couldn’t hide her bulge. She sat at the table like a queen, legs spread, belly front and center, and let him serve her. He’d watch her chew, watch her swallow, eyes dark with lust every time she moaned through a full mouthful. She began to recognize the signs in herself—how her breathing changed when she passed a certain threshold, how her eyes fluttered when she couldn’t sit up straight anymore. How she’d start rubbing her belly on instinct, rocking slightly in her seat. Lucas would take her hand and press it over the swell of her gut. “Feel that?” She’d nod. “All mine,” he whispered. --- Even her body adapted. Her stomach stretched. Hunger returned faster. The line between appetite and arousal blurred completely. By the end of every week, she needed to be fed—slowly, deliberately, completely. She started craving food in the middle of sex. Lucas caught her muttering “feed me” as she rode him, belly bouncing with every motion. She came that night with chocolate smeared across her lips and his hand gripping her softness. She begged him to never stop. He promised he wouldn’t. Chapter 14: The Look The café was crowded, sunlight slanting through the windows in wide, lazy beams. The clatter of cutlery, the low thrum of conversation—it all blurred for Erin as she brought another bite of croissant to her lips, buttery flakes dusting her cleavage. Lucas sat across from her, hands folded under his chin, watching. Not politely. Not subtly. With heat. With hunger. With the look. It wasn’t new, not really—but here, in public, it hit different. The way his eyes dragged across the swell of her belly, how he licked his lips unconsciously when she moaned softly at the chocolate center of the pastry. His gaze didn’t just undress her. It devoured her. Her cheeks flushed as she chewed slowly. Her thighs shifted in her seat—not from discomfort. From thrill. Because she knew. Everyone else in this café saw her as a hungry girl getting bigger. But he saw a goddess in the making. --- She leaned in over the table, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’re staring.” Lucas’s voice was quiet, rich with tension. “You’re glowing.” “I’m sweating.” “You’re flushed. From eating. From pleasure.” She licked her thumb, caught a bit of jam. “Does that do something for you?” He reached under the table, squeezed her thigh—his fingers digging into the plush softness. She nearly gasped. “Everything,” he murmured. “The way your belly presses into the table… how your breathing changes as you eat… the look on your face when you're full and still going.” Erin’s breath hitched. She spread her knees slightly beneath the tablecloth. “You want me to keep going?” Lucas’s eyes darkened. “I always do.” --- She ordered seconds. Pancakes, dripping in maple syrup, a tower stacked too high. The waitress raised an eyebrow. Erin smiled sweetly, brushing back her thickening hair. “I’m starving.” Lucas’s hand never left her thigh. Every bite she took made his touch firmer, needier. Her belly pushed further into the table edge with each forkful. By the time the plate was clean, her dress clung like a second skin and her breathing was shallow again. They didn’t talk on the way home. She could feel him staring. His knuckles were white on the wheel. The moment the front door shut behind them, he pushed her up against it. His hands gripped her belly. Hard. “You don’t know,” he whispered, “what you do to me.” She smiled wickedly. “Then show me.” Chapter 15: A New Appetite Erin pressed her hand to her belly and breathed in, slow and steady, grounding herself. The restaurant’s menu lay open in front of her, but she wasn’t reading it anymore. She already knew what she wanted. Everything. Across the table, Lucas watched her with that simmering heat in his eyes again—but this time, she led. This time, she was the one with the appetite, commanding the pace. “I’m ordering all of it,” she said softly. Lucas blinked. “All?” She didn’t smile. She didn’t need to. “Appetizers. Mains. Dessert. Everything I want. No stopping.” He swallowed hard. “Then let me help you.” The waiter blinked when she started reciting the order: garlic bread, calamari, creamy risotto, three-cheese lasagna, two sides of fries, truffle mac and cheese, and for dessert—molten lava cake and tiramisu. The man stammered. “For… uh… the table?” Erin smirked. “Just me.” Lucas was near bursting with pride. He reached under the table and took her hand, kissed it slowly. “Greedy girl,” he whispered. “Growing girl,” she whispered back. The food arrived in waves. The first few bites were polite, measured, slow. But then came the heat. The hunger. Her body remembered how good it felt—stretching, filling, conquering. Fork to mouth. Chew. Swallow. Moan. She leaned back slightly as her belly began to swell, the waistband of her skirt disappearing into the curve. Her thighs spread wider. Her cheeks flushed. By the time the risotto was gone, she was breathing heavier. But not slowing. Lucas dabbed her lips between bites. Rubbed her side with one hand, his other gripping the table to anchor himself. His voice was hoarse. “You’re incredible.” “I’m starving,” she hissed, eyes glazed. He fed her the last bite of lasagna. She took it like communion, tongue flicking the fork clean. Then dessert came. She didn’t even blink. By the final spoon of tiramisu, Erin had shifted forward in her chair, thighs splayed, her belly pressing firm and full against the table’s edge. She looked ** on fullness—eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Lucas whispered, “You’re absolutely massive right now.” “I’m not done,” she growled. And he could see it: a new hunger. A deeper one. No longer just about indulgence or curiosity. This was purpose. This was power. This was who she was becoming. Later, at home, she stripped down and stood in front of the mirror, running her hands over her swollen middle. It jutted forward, domed and tight. Her love handles had thickened. Her breasts were heavy, sagging slightly with new weight. Lucas stood behind her, arms wrapped around her, fingers sinking into her softness. “I want to feed this hunger,” he said into her neck. “Every damn day.” She nodded, heart racing. “Then feed me more.” Chapter 16: Stuck in a Booth It should’ve been a normal night out—just a dinner date at one of their favorite bistros, tucked into a cozy corner with flickering candles and cheesy jazz. Erin wore a black knit dress, clingy, soft, forgiving—but not enough. Not anymore. Lucas had called it “casual.” Erin had called it “dangerous.” Because the moment she slid into the booth and her hips met the curve of the seat, she realized the truth: she didn’t fit. Not easily. Not without effort. She braced her hands against the tabletop and pushed, wiggling, her thick thighs grinding against the vinyl, her belly pressing into the table’s edge like a water balloon being squeezed. Her breath came quicker. Lucas didn’t move to help. He just watched. His mouth parted. His eyes wide. Erin looked up at him with a teasing scowl. “Well?” “You’re beautiful.” “I’m stuck.” “You’re hot.” She gave one more shimmy, grunting softly. Her hips wedged in. Her belly was squashed—she could feel it pressing up against her ribcage now. She sat back with a huff, victorious. And starving. --- They ordered appetizers before even glancing at mains—garlic knots dripping with butter, gooey mozzarella sticks, and deep-fried pickles. Erin devoured them one-handed, the other hand massaging the edge of her belly where it pressed too tightly into the table. “Guess I’ve outgrown the furniture,” she murmured between bites. Lucas's foot rubbed up her calf. “You outgrow everything. I love it.” “You’re lucky I’m into this.” “You’re into it?” His eyes were alight with something deeper than arousal. “You live for it.” She swallowed the last bite and grinned, full mouth and all. “You’re not wrong.” --- Dinner hit her like a wave. By the time her carbonara arrived, she was already feeling heavy. The pasta came smothered in cream and cheese, and Erin dove in with gusto, lips slick, belly grinding now against the edge of the table so hard that her dress had ridden up. Lucas leaned forward. “You’re too stuffed for dessert?” he teased. She stabbed a final bite. “Don’t test me.” Her voice had thickened. Her face was flushed. She was so full that she had to shift her weight every few minutes just to stay comfortable—but she kept eating. Kept proving she could. --- When she finally surrendered her fork, her hands fell to her belly. It was taut, distended. Pressed painfully into the edge of the booth. She tried to get up. And couldn’t. She pushed once—nothing. Pushed again—her hips stuck, belly too heavy to lift properly. She laughed, breathless. “Lucas…” His chair scraped as he stood. She gave him a look. “You’re gonna have to help.” Lucas slid in beside her, one arm behind her back, one hand braced at her waist. He rocked with her gently, building momentum. She groaned as her belly squished tighter. With a loud fffump, her hips popped free. They stumbled upright, and she nearly collapsed against him. He caught her. “You’ve officially eaten yourself out of a booth,” he whispered in awe. “And I still want dessert.” --- Back at home, he fed her spoonfuls of melted ice cream on the couch, her belly bare, stretched high like a drum. She moaned with every bite, half in pain, half in ecstasy. “Can’t believe I got stuck,” she murmured, hand tracing the curve of her gut. Lucas kissed her belly button, voice low. “Don’t worry. I’ll build you a bigger booth.” Chapter 17: Weight Confession The digital scale blinked in silence, its blue light reflecting in Erin’s wide eyes. She hadn’t stepped on it in weeks—not since she outgrew her last pair of jeans and decided that numbers didn’t matter as much as how she felt. But today was different. Today, she wanted to know. Naked except for a stretched bra that barely held her swollen breasts, she stepped onto the cool plastic. Her belly quivered with each shift of weight, her thick thighs brushing together as she tried to stand still. The number blinked. Then held. 100.4 kg. She stared. It hit her—not like a slap, but like a flood. Triple digits. She exhaled slowly. Not fear. Not shame. Power. Lucas stood in the doorway, silent. Watching. Erin turned, her belly bouncing slightly as she moved. “I’m over a hundred.” He didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate. Just crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her softness. “God, I knew it,” he groaned against her skin. “I could feel it every time I touched you. Every time I fed you. You’re—fuck, Erin—you’re incredible.” Her breath caught. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips with reverence. “Tell me how it feels.” She shivered. “Heavy. Soft. Bigger than I ever thought I’d be.” “Do you like it?” She didn’t answer at first. Just looked down at herself—the belly rounding out in every direction, the thick thighs that chafed pleasantly when she walked, the arms that jiggled now when she laughed. And the hunger still curling in her belly, even now. “I love it.” Lucas kissed her, hard, pulling her to him until her belly pressed between them, separating their bodies like a living cushion. “I want more,” she whispered. He pulled back, breathless. “More?” “I don’t want to stop. I want to see what I can become.” Her eyes locked with his. “I want you to help me.” He groaned. “How much more?” Erin leaned into him, lips at his ear. “Let’s see what one-fifty looks like.” Lucas’s knees nearly buckled. --- That night, they celebrated. He cooked her a late-night feast—fettuccine alfredo, garlic bread with extra butter, thick slices of cheesecake still cool from the fridge. Erin ate in her bra and panties, belly resting heavy on her thighs as she sank deeper into the couch with every course. Lucas fed her between kisses. Her belly surged forward, red and tight by the end. He massaged it slowly as she lay back, moaning through her fullness. One hundred down. Fifty to go. And they were just getting started. Chapter 18: Slower Sex, Fuller Belly Lucas had learned how to read her new body—every curve, every swell, the way her breath hitched when he ran his fingers beneath the overhang of her belly, the way her thighs twitched when he pressed kisses into the softest places. Erin lay on her back, belly rising like a hill between them, skin flushed from the late dinner still sitting warm and heavy inside her. The sheets were damp where her body sank into them. Her breasts spilled outward, full and soft, her thighs spread wide to make room for the bulk of her belly pushing between them. She whimpered as he eased beside her, not rushing. “I can’t move as fast anymore,” she murmured, flushed and breathy. Lucas brushed hair from her face, hand resting on the taut dome of her middle. “You don’t need to move fast.” Everything had changed. No more frantic, quick, light-bodies tangling in the dark. This was different. This was worship. He took his time. Kissed her shoulders, down her arms, then leaned into her belly, both hands gripping the side flab like handles. She gasped as he kissed just below her navel, where the skin was stretched tight from the meal she’d devoured just an hour earlier. “I can feel it,” he whispered, lips grazing her fullness. “Still heavy. Still warm inside you.” Her toes curled. His hands slid down, squeezing her hips, kneading the thick pads of flesh that had grown there. Erin arched slowly, belly wobbling. She was all curves now—soft, rounded, generous. The kind of body that demanded slowness, worship, breathy moans drawn out like honey. She couldn’t straddle him anymore—not without a struggle. Couldn’t roll quickly, couldn’t grind fast. But what she could do was sink. And he let her. Lucas guided her gently on top of him, careful with her weight, gasping as her belly spilled forward and pinned him to the mattress. Her hands braced on his chest, her arms trembling from the effort. She rode him slowly, each motion deliberate and deep. Her belly slapped softly against his ribs, the sound muted and thick. He wrapped his arms around her back and held her close, letting her weight crush into him. “You feel so good,” she whispered, breath ragged. “So full.” He kissed her jaw. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Her breath caught as she moved again. Slower. Heavier. Her orgasm, when it came, didn’t explode. It rolled through her, like a wave of heat and trembling and release. She collapsed onto him, belly squashing flat against his torso, and he didn’t let go. Afterward, they lay tangled in the heat. Erin’s belly rested half over him, half beside him, skin sticky, stretch marks glistening. Lucas ran his hand over the curve of her side. “You know,” he murmured, “you’ve gotten so soft, even your moans sound heavier.” She chuckled weakly. “That’s because I came with a half-kilo of pasta in me.” “You’re perfect.” She smiled, eyes half-closed. “I feel like a queen.” “You are.” He kissed her again, slow and reverent, letting her feel it: the hunger, the love, the want. And the promise—there’d be more. Chapter 19: Before and After Erin sat cross-legged on the floor, a half-empty pizza box beside her and a thick swirl of melted chocolate smeared across one finger. The afternoon sun spilled in through the open window, dust motes dancing lazily in the air. Her belly pressed against her thighs, soft and warm, settling heavily as she reached for her phone, idly scrolling. She hadn’t meant to find it. The old photo. Taken almost two years ago at some office party, when she’d still fit into pencil skirts and heels, when her cheekbones were sharp, and her arms bare and thin. Her face was smaller. Her smile—tight. Polite. She was standing stiffly beside coworkers she no longer spoke to, holding a champagne flute like it was a shield. She stared at it for a long time. Lucas entered behind her, barefoot, shirtless, munching on a slice of garlic bread. He peered over her shoulder, chewing slowing. “Who’s that?” he asked, teasing. Erin raised an eyebrow. “Me.” His brows lifted. “Seriously?” She turned the screen toward him. He squinted, looked between the screen and her real self. And then: “I barely recognize her.” Erin bit her lip. “Me too.” --- She rose slowly, belly leading the way, and walked toward the mirror. Her tank top rolled up halfway, revealing a broad swath of belly—creased and soft, heavy and plush. Her hips flared beneath boyshorts that clung to her thick thighs. Her arms were soft enough now to jiggle when she lifted them. She turned, catching sight of herself from the side. The contrast was sharp. Then and now. She called Lucas over. “Come look at this with me.” He stood behind her, hands immediately finding the softness at her sides, belly folding against his pelvis. His eyes locked on their reflection. “You’ve come so far.” She nodded. “That girl in the photo… she was so small. Always hungry.” “And now?” “Still hungry,” she said, smirking. “But happy.” --- He guided her onto the bed, cradled against pillows. Her belly spread over her lap like melted butter, and he kissed the top of it slowly, reverently. “You’ve never looked more like you than you do now.” She chuckled. “You’re not just saying that because I’m heavy and full?” “I’m saying that because you are. Because you chose it. Built it. Embraced it.” Erin looked down at her stretched skin, her rolls, the soft dimples and the thick lines of gain. She nodded. “I don’t want her back,” she said, glancing once more at the photo on her phone. “She was small and careful.” Lucas grinned. “And you? You’re big and fearless.” --- That night, Erin deleted the photo. And ate two desserts. For the girl she used to be. And the woman she was becoming. Chapter 20: Family Visit Erin hadn’t told them. Not about the weight. Not about Lucas. Not about the way her life had softened—deliberately, deliciously—since she left her office job and leaned into something fuller, hungrier, real. But her mother’s tone on the phone had been sharp, polite, and pointed. “Just lunch, sweetheart. Nothing fancy. It’ll be good to catch up.” Lucas kissed her shoulder as she buttoned the flowing blouse that barely contained her. “You don’t have to go,” he murmured. She adjusted the waistband of her skirt, breath short. “I do. But I’m not hiding anymore.” The dining room was bright, white, sterile. Cold meats and salad bowls. Her sister blinked when she saw her. Her brother did a double take. And her mother—her mother just stared. Erin had dressed carefully: nothing tight, but nothing concealing. Her belly pressed soft and heavy into her waistband, her arms bare, her face round and glowing. She kissed cheeks, smiled, and sat down at the table with the poise of a queen. If the chair creaked beneath her new weight, she ignored it. If her thighs spread wide beneath the table, she embraced it. Her mother offered salad first. Erin reached for the bread instead. “So,” her father said with awkward brightness. “What’ve you been up to lately?” Lucas answered first. “We’ve been cooking a lot. Traveling when we can. Erin’s writing again.” Her sister frowned faintly. “You’re not working full time?” Erin shrugged, reaching for more butter. “Not in an office. Didn’t fit me anymore.” There was a pause. And then, from her mother: “You’ve changed.” It wasn’t said kindly. Erin met her gaze, straight-spined, her soft belly resting against the edge of the table like an anchor. “I have.” Another pause. “You’ve... put on weight.” Lucas’s hand slid onto her thigh under the table, warm and steady. Erin smiled slowly. “Yes, I have.” The silence thickened. She leaned forward, elbows sinking into the table. “And I’ve never been happier.” Later, in the garden, her sister cornered her quietly. “You really don’t care what people say?” Erin turned toward the sun, its heat brushing her skin. “I care what I feel. What he sees when he looks at me. I care that I’ve finally let myself eat without apology.” Her sister stared at her, searching. “I used to be scared,” Erin added softly. “Of being too much. Taking up too much space.” She smiled. “Now? I love it.” Lucas brought her dessert after dinner, a rich slab of cake with cream on top. Her mother didn’t touch hers. Erin finished both slices. On the drive home, Erin unzipped her skirt and let her belly spill free. Lucas reached over and rested a hand on her softness, kneading gently. “You were perfect.” She exhaled. “I feel powerful.” “You are.” They didn’t speak the rest of the way. Her belly jiggled with every bump in the road, full and proud. She never looked back. Chapter 21: Stuffed Silly Erin didn’t know what Lucas had planned. She only knew he told her to come hungry. By the time she arrived, dusk had painted the apartment in rose-gold light, the windows steamed slightly from the oven’s labor. The smell hit her first—rich, buttery, sweet and savory tangled in the air like a spell. She slipped off her shoes and waddled toward the kitchen, stomach already gurgling. Lucas was waiting. A low table had been set on the floor, covered edge to edge: towering stacks of pancakes glistening with syrup, bowls of mac and cheese, fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, trays of pastries, cream pies, mini cheesecakes, chocolate-drenched strawberries, sausages coiled on skewers, lasagna bubbling in a dish still hot. There was a pitcher of milkshake. A chilled bottle of wine. Erin stared. “I told you,” Lucas said, voice low, reverent, “Come hungry.” She blinked. “This is—this is insane.” He stepped behind her, arms wrapping around the wide curve of her belly. “This is your feast.” Her mouth was dry. Her stomach roared. --- They began slow. He fed her—by hand, with a fork, lips to lips—each bite melting into the next. Her belly swelled, a comforting ache rising behind her navel as she swallowed down mouthful after mouthful of warm, soft, rich food. No small talk. No restraint. Just indulgence. --- By the time she leaned back, her belly had ballooned forward, sloshing with cream and carbs and syrup. Her top had ridden up entirely, exposing the taut red swell of her stomach, stretch marks shining. She was panting. Her breath came in little gasps. Lucas knelt beside her, hands immediately on her belly. “How do you feel?” “Fucking stuffed,” she groaned. He grinned. “Good. Because we’re not done yet.” Her eyes widened. He picked up a slice of cheesecake, held it just above her parted lips. She moaned as she let him feed her more, each bite slower, heavier, her belly churning with fullness. Her hands gripped her sides, fingers sinking into fat as she chewed and swallowed and gasped. --- Eventually she was pinned. Flat on the couch, belly stretched tight like a drum, body limp from food and pleasure and praise. Lucas was rubbing oil into her swollen middle, kneading in slow circles, whispering every filthy, tender thing he could think of. “Look at you. Look what you’ve become.” “Greedy girl. You ate all of it.” “I’m so fucking proud of you.” She whimpered when he pressed his lips to her navel. Her eyes were glazed. Her hands resting on the sides of her belly, rising and falling with her ragged breath. “I can’t move,” she whispered. “You don’t need to.” Lucas kissed her, then leaned back. “Say it,” he murmured. She blinked slowly. “Say what?” He smiled. “Say, ‘Keep going.’” --- And she did. Chapter 22: Gaining Goals The scale wavered. Erin stood on it, naked, hair damp from the shower, her belly pooling heavy and low beneath her, its underside pressing against her thickened thighs. She leaned forward to peer past the curve of her breasts and her doming gut. The number blinked. 122.4kg She let out a slow breath. Her thighs jiggled with the motion. Behind her, Lucas whistled softly. “Damn.” She stepped off and turned to him, cheeks flushed, belly swinging slightly with the movement. “That’s over six kilos in six weeks.” He reached for her, tugging her close. “You’re incredible.” She didn’t protest. She was starting to believe it. --- They curled up on the couch that night, Erin in one of his oversized t-shirts, which barely covered the undercurve of her belly now. She was spooning thick spoonfuls of peanut butter from a jar, and Lucas was rubbing her hip absently. “I’ve been thinking,” she murmured. Lucas tilted his head. “I want to set a goal.” He sat up straighter, intrigued. “A weight goal?” She nodded, swallowing. “Not for anyone else. Not because I should. Because I want to. Because this—” she gestured to herself, belly wobbling with the motion, “—feels good.” Lucas cupped her cheek. “Tell me.” She licked her lips, eyes bright. “Let’s go for 130kg.” His breath caught. “Seriously?” Her eyes held fire. “Seriously.” He grinned. “What’s the timeline?” She smirked. “My birthday. Two months.” Lucas practically vibrated with excitement. --- That night, they brainstormed. Feeding schedules. Caloric goals. Snack stashes. “Morning milkshakes,” he said, scribbling. “Double cream, peanut butter, oats, banana, syrup.” “Stuffing Sundays,” she added. “Every week. New theme. Italian. Chinese. Deep fried everything.” He looked at her belly with hungry eyes. “I want to see it grow.” She placed his hand on the plush softness. “Help me.” --- And so they began. Daily weigh-ins. Food journals—filled not with restriction but indulgence. She tracked how full she got, what made her belly bloat fastest, which snacks layered most deliciously on top of a huge lunch. Lucas read articles. Joined forums. Erin started a private Instagram, documenting her progress, captioning each photo with bold, unapologetic notes. “Feeling the gain.” “Belly’s tight tonight. And perfect.” “Proud to grow.” She looked back at her first post weeks later and grinned. --- By the time she hit 127kg, Lucas surprised her with a crop top that read: “This Body is Under Construction.” She wore it all day. No bra. Chapter 23: Fetish and Love They lay tangled in sweat-damp sheets, limbs heavy, bellies heavier. The room still smelled like syrup and sex, like the ghost of whipped cream, like something secret and sacred. Erin’s breathing slowed gradually, chest rising and falling in lazy heaves, the slope of her belly perched atop Lucas’s lap like a living monument. “Can I ask you something?” she murmured. Lucas ran a finger down the thick crease between her belly and thigh. “Always.” “This thing between us… it’s more than just food, right?” His hand stilled. She rolled onto her side—slowly, groaning, belly dragging and wobbling with the shift—and faced him. “I mean…” She hesitated, then barreled forward. “Do you get off on feeding me? Like, is it… a kink? Or more than that?” Lucas didn’t flinch. Instead, he sat up slightly, hand still on her. “It’s both.” She blinked. “I do get off on it. Watching you eat, feeding you, seeing you swell—fuck, yes. It’s erotic. But it’s not just that.” Erin swallowed. “Then what is it?” He leaned in. “It’s trust. It’s intimacy. It’s helping you take up space you were taught to hide. It’s the way you look at me after your third helping, cheeks flushed and belly tight. It’s watching you fall in love with your own hunger.” She was silent a long moment. Then: “That’s kind of beautiful.” He smiled. “You’re kind of beautiful.” She laughed, softly. “I used to think fat fetishes were just… men objectifying women. Reducing them.” Lucas shook his head. “The way I see it? You’re not being reduced. You’re becoming more.” Her eyes welled. She hadn’t meant for them to. Lucas kissed her, slow and deep. “I love your fat,” he whispered against her lips. “I worship your belly, your rolls, your stretch marks. But more than that? I love the you who lets herself have all this.” She kissed him back harder. --- Later that night, she wrote in her journal. “It’s not about being ‘sexy’ because I’m big. It’s being loved as I grow. It’s the freedom to want more. To be more. To enjoy my body for all it does, all it holds.” She paused, belly rumbling from the feast they'd just shared. “It’s the kink, sure. But it’s also the care. The permission. The celebration.” She drew a little heart beside the last line. “He doesn’t just love how I look. He loves what I’ve become.” Chapter 24: Public Display The restaurant buzzed—cutlery clinking, wine glasses catching the light, conversations murmuring over the low jazz that spilled from hidden speakers. Erin stood just outside the host’s podium, heart pounding beneath the stretched neckline of her bodycon dress. It was black, clingy, unapologetically tight. Every curve—no, mass—was on display: her breasts nearly spilling over the fabric, her belly rounding forward in a proud arc, hips swaying with enough heft to turn heads with every step. Lucas’s eyes had gone dark the moment she stepped out of the car. “You’re… incredible,” he’d breathed, voice hoarse. “Too much?” she teased. “Not even close.” Now, as they entered, Lucas’s hand resting just above her ass, the heat of dozens of gazes pressed against her skin. Some subtle. Some not. A couple glanced, blinked, then looked again. A waiter faltered as they passed. And one woman’s lips pursed as she clocked Erin’s belly—a globe beneath that tight fabric, jiggling slightly with every step—and the way Lucas couldn’t stop staring. Erin’s pulse thudded, but she didn’t flinch. Let them look. --- At the table, she didn’t hold back. Not anymore. The breadbasket came. She polished it off before their appetizers arrived—crunchy fried calamari with aioli, and duck fat potato wedges she devoured like she hadn’t eaten in days. Lucas watched her, rapt, eyes lingering on the way her dress strained with every bite. He poured her wine. “You know how sexy you are, right?” She licked aioli off her thumb, belly pressing firm against the edge of the table. “I think I’m starting to.” He leaned in, whispering low so only she could hear. “When you sit back and rub that full belly in public? When you order a second entrée without blinking? You have no idea what that does to me.” She bit her lip, feeling the heat coil between her thighs. And then, like a queen ordering her next course, she flagged the waiter and said with a grin: “I’ll have the lobster ravioli. And the steak. Medium rare.” Lucas’s breath hitched. --- By the time dessert arrived, her belly had surged against the table edge, distended and taut beneath the black fabric. She shifted to ease the pressure, but the booth didn’t offer much give. Her breathing had deepened. A soft flush painted her cheeks. She spooned thick tiramisu into her mouth, slow and sultry, letting the cream coat her tongue. Lucas was hard in his pants, shifting beneath the table. She leaned over—belly mashing into her thighs, cleavage heavy—and whispered: “Want to help me finish your mousse?” He nearly groaned aloud. --- As they left, eyes followed them again. Erin’s gait was slow, luxurious. Her belly swayed heavily, tight from indulgence. Lucas opened the car door, but before she got in, she turned to him, breath hot against his cheek. “Did they all see how stuffed I am?” He nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Yes.” She grinned, a goddess in a gluttonous temple. “Good.” Chapter 25: Belly Worship The lights were low. The only glow came from candles—dozens of them, flickering soft and golden across every surface of the bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of vanilla, chocolate, and skin warmed by hunger and anticipation. Erin stood at the foot of the bed, stripped down to a black lace bra and panties that clung to her hips like a whisper, the fabric barely containing the fullness of her body. Her belly had outgrown everything. It curved outward, heavy and plush, stretch-marked and glorious, the bottom of it dipping well past her waistband, swaying slightly with every breath. Lucas knelt before her, eyes worshipful. “Lie back,” he said. She obeyed slowly, climbing onto the bed with a soft grunt, each motion rippling through her flesh. Her belly spread across her like a landscape, soft and wide and wholly hers. Lucas followed, crawling on his knees until he was crouched beside her, breath hot, hands trembling. “I’ve been dreaming of this all day,” he murmured, planting his first kiss just above her navel. Her belly twitched. He moved lower, mouth brushing the deep curve where her gut folded over itself, soft and warm and fragrant with skin. He kissed there, again and again, each press deeper, reverent. “You’re divine,” he whispered. “So full. So soft.” Erin moaned, threading fingers through his hair. Lucas ran his hands along her sides, gripping her love handles firmly, jiggling them just enough to make her belly ripple. She gasped. Her whole body was a response now—wired to pleasure, primed by indulgence. “More,” she said, voice husky. He licked across the swell of her underbelly, biting gently at the flesh. “All of this,” he growled, “all this you—I want to drown in it.” She arched, her whole body jiggling. Her breasts heaved, belly wobbling from the motion. Lucas pressed his face against her lower belly, nuzzling, inhaling. “This gut’s everything. The way it grew for me. The way you feed it. The way you love it.” “I do,” she breathed. “I love it.” His mouth found the deep middle, where her navel had stretched wide and shallow. He kissed into it, slowly, then sucked. She cried out, hips jerking. He rubbed oil between his palms and began massaging her belly in wide, loving circles, kneading her bulk like sacred dough. Every inch of her he touched, kissed, praised. “I could worship you forever,” he whispered. “Never stop feeding you. Never stop watching you grow.” She reached down, grabbed his wrist, breath shaking. “Don’t stop.” He didn’t. His lips worshipped the hang of her gut, the slope over her hips, the rolls along her sides. She was a temple, and he was on his knees. She moaned, louder now, breath ragged. Lucas looked up at her—sweat-slicked, glowing, trembling under his touch. “I’ve never loved anything the way I love your body,” he said. Erin’s eyes brimmed. “Then love it more,” she whispered. “Fill it. Feed it. Fuck it.” He climbed over her, belly crushed between them, moans lost in kisses and candlelight. And he did. Chapter 26: Too Big for Her Old Life The office smelled like stale carpet and filtered coffee. Erin sat on the too-small swivel chair outside the conference room, thighs overflowing the sides, belly pressing into the lap desk she'd balanced her notepad on. Her blazer was tight across the arms; her once-loose blouse clung to every fold and swell like it was begging for mercy. She hadn’t been in this building in weeks. Remote work had been the polite excuse. But the truth? She barely fit her desk anymore. Inside the glass walls of the conference room, her coworkers chatted over spreadsheets and projections, all slender bodies and polite tension. No one had commented yet, but their glances lingered—sliding down the front of her, catching on her belly, then darting guiltily away. She knew what they saw: A woman who had more than doubled in size, breasts heavy, belly dominating her lap, face rounder, glowing. She radiated indulgence, and it made them uncomfortable. She was a walking rebellion. When her name was called, she heaved herself up. The chair creaked in relief. --- The meeting was a blur of metrics and minor concerns. Her manager, Grant—string bean in a tight suit—cleared his throat halfway through and said, “We’ve noticed you’ve been… distant. Distracted.” She gave him a cool smile. “I’ve been focused. Just not on this.” He blinked. “I’ve outgrown this role,” she continued, tone even, a hand resting casually on her belly. “Literally. Figuratively. All of it.” His eyes flicked to her gut involuntarily, then back to her face. “You’re resigning?” “I’m evolving,” she said, voice smooth. “And this place doesn’t stretch with me.” --- That night, Erin walked into Lucas’s arms and laughed. Really laughed. “You quit?” he asked, stunned and thrilled. She nodded. “They couldn’t handle me.” He kissed her fiercely, hand gripping the soft underside of her belly. “Damn right they couldn’t.” --- They celebrated with takeout—three boxes each—and a bottle of sparkling rosé. Erin sat on the couch in nothing but a stretched camisole, belly cascading into her lap like a throne. Lucas fed her bites between sips, each one laced with the taste of freedom. “You’ve changed,” he murmured. “I’ve become,” she corrected. --- Later, she journaled. “The job was a cage. A diet with a paycheck. I shrank for them—smiled small, sat still. Not anymore.” She looked at her reflection in the dark window: wide, soft, powerful. “I’m too big for that life. Too full. Too me.” Chapter 27: The Gainiversary It started with the smell—warm sugar and something buttery. Erin rolled over, belly dragging across the sheets like a pendulum, and groaned softly at the sun filtering through the curtains. Then came the sound: clinks, sizzling, the low hum of Lucas’s off-key humming from the kitchen. She sat up slowly. Her belly pooled into her lap, heavy and demanding. She rested her hands atop it, massaging it gently, feeling the fullness still lingering from last night’s pre-celebration takeout binge. The camisole she’d worn to bed had ridden halfway up her gut. She didn’t fix it. She didn’t need to. Lucas appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but an apron. His eyes swept over her. “Happy gainiversary.” Erin blinked. Then laughed—deep and warm and round. “You didn’t,” she said. “I did.” --- The dining table was groaning with the feast: towers of pancakes glazed with maple syrup and butter pats melting into their peaks. A tray of bacon, eggs, sausages. A chocolate cake layered with ganache. Two entire boxes of filled doughnuts. Whipped cream. Hashbrowns. A tub of mac and cheese. And in the center, a small sign scrawled in Lucas’s handwriting: “+100kg and climbing: One Year of Glorious Gain.” Erin pressed her hand to her mouth. “Lucas…” He was already behind her, guiding her gently toward the chair they’d reinforced months ago. She lowered herself into it with a soft grunt, belly sloshing forward. He kissed her cheek. “I want you blissed out,” he whispered. “Full to your ears. Breathless. Shaking.” Erin shivered. “I want to remember tonight forever.” --- He started slow—forkfuls of pancake, bites of dripping bacon. She chewed, swallowed, moaned. He fed her and praised her with every bite, rubbing her gut, kissing her shoulder, whispering filth and devotion all at once. “You’ve come so far,” he murmured, licking icing from her lips. “You’re perfect.” She was already heavy with fullness, but he didn’t stop. The mac and cheese came next—creamy and molten—and then sweet cakes, whipped cream smeared across her lips, belly beginning to push into the table. She whimpered. Lucas was hard as steel, watching her breathe harder, belly dome tighter. “More,” she gasped. He fed her doughnuts one after the other, then slices of cake, pushing a final spoonful of ganache into her mouth. Her belly surged over her thighs like an avalanche, tight and pulsing. Her breaths came in ragged bursts. “Lucas,” she whispered, trembling. “I can’t—” “Yes you can,” he breathed, kissing the slick curve of her gut. “You’re glorious. Take it. All of it. Be more.” She whimpered again, head lolling back, belly packed full. He kissed her, lips sweet and desperate. Then he knelt beside her chair and began worshipping every inch of her belly—kissing, massaging, whispering love and lust and awe. She shook. Tears stung her eyes—not from pain, but from overwhelming, indulgent joy. “I’ve never… felt so full,” she gasped. Lucas held her, reverently. “And tomorrow,” he whispered into her belly, “we go even further.” Chapter 28: A Fat Life They lay on the living room couch, limbs entangled, Erin stretched out like a decadent goddess in repose. She wore nothing but a strained tank top and soft cotton shorts rolled under the swell of her belly. The lights were dimmed, a documentary playing somewhere in the background, but neither of them were watching. Lucas’s hand rested on the widest part of her middle, fingers splayed across the taut, warm skin. She shifted, belly wobbling, sloshing from side to side like the slow churn of a tide. “You’re taking up more of the couch every week,” he murmured. She smirked. “You complaining?” “Hell no.” He leaned down, kissed the overhang where her belly folded gently onto itself. “I’m proud.” They fell into silence again, but it wasn’t empty. It was warm. Full. Comfortable, like the way Erin’s body had become: soft and safe and sprawling. “Do you ever wonder where it ends?” she asked softly, almost shy. Lucas looked up. “Where what ends?” “This. Me. Growing.” He paused. Not because he didn’t have an answer, but because it felt sacred. “I don’t think it has to end,” he said. “Unless you want it to.” She nodded slowly. “I’ve been thinking about… going bigger.” His cock twitched at the casual certainty in her tone. “Like, 180kg? Maybe more. I’ve been looking at bigger models online. Women who don’t just gain—they live fat. They own it. I want to feel what that’s like.” Lucas’s breath caught. “You’d be enormous.” She laughed, belly jiggling. “I already am.” “No,” he said. “You’d be… monumental. Immovable. A goddess.” “Good,” she whispered, eyes dark with fire. “That’s what I want.” He sat up, cradling her belly in both hands, awe and arousal bleeding into each other. “Then we’ll get you there. Slowly. Sweetly. Completely.” Erin reached for a half-eaten box of pastries on the coffee table. Took a bite, cheeks full, moaning softly. “I want to build a whole life around it,” she said, licking her fingers. “Fat clothing. Fat furniture. Bigger car. Bigger bed. Bigger me. Just... keep expanding until I don’t remember what small ever felt like.” Lucas knelt between her knees, lifting her belly to kiss under its fold, reverent. “We’ll fill every corner of your life with softness.” She exhaled. Heavy. Satisfied. “I want to be fed like a ritual. I want strangers to stare and wonder how much I eat. I want to go to the doctor and make them stutter. I want to turn you on with every inch of gain.” “You already do.” Erin grabbed another pastry, slower this time. “Then let’s go bigger.” Chapter 29: Heaviest Yet The morning was quiet. Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window as Erin stood in front of the scale, the digital display blinking, ready. She hadn’t weighed herself in weeks—not because she was afraid, but because she wanted it to mean something. Lucas stood behind her, arms folded, watching every tremble, every shift of her massive form with barely contained anticipation. She was wrapped in a towel barely capable of the job. It clung to her hips, the top tucked beneath the great swell of her breasts, but the fabric barely reached the underside of her gut now. Her belly swayed, wide and heavy, folding into itself in soft rolls that brushed her thighs when she moved. Her calves, thick as tree trunks, shifted slowly as she stepped forward onto the scale. It groaned softly under her weight. Erin exhaled. The number blinked once, then locked. 160.2kg She stared. Lucas gasped. “Oh my God.” Erin’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes filled instantly—not from shame, not even from surprise, but from something deeper. Something sacred. “I did it,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. “Lucas, I did it.” He dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around her legs, head pressed into the overhang of her belly. “You’re incredible,” he said. “You’ve blossomed. You’re magnificent.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked down at her body—once slim, now massive, decadent, hers. Her belly was a monument. Her thighs were thunder. Her face, round and flushed with emotion, was that of a woman who had chosen abundance in every form. Lucas kissed the underside of her gut, lips reverent. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he said. “And more.” She sniffled, fingers running through his hair. “I never thought I’d feel this… whole.” He looked up at her, eyes wet. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Erin sank into his arms, massive and shaking with joy. “This body,” she said, “this life—we built it. I’m not just fat. I’m free.” Lucas stood, lifted her face, and kissed her—deep, slow, full. When they broke apart, she was breathless. “Take a picture,” she said, smiling through her tears. “I want to remember the moment I became my heaviest yet.” Chapter 30: Overflow (Epilogue) The sun was barely up when Erin waddled into the kitchen, her bare feet whispering across the tile. The hem of her tank top—old, faded, and now stretched comically tight—rode high above her belly’s slope, exposing the deep crease where her gut folded over itself and the plush curve of her hips. Lucas was at the stove, flipping pancakes. The smell of butter and sweet batter thickened the air. He turned when he heard her—his gaze softening, heat blooming behind his smile. “Hungry already?” he teased. Erin smirked, resting one hand on the countertop to support her weight, the other sinking into the slope of her side. “Always.” She waddled farther in, belly leading the way like a queen’s procession. Her hips had grown wide enough to brush the doorway edges. Her thighs kissed with every step. Her arms, round and soft, swayed as she moved—effortful, indulgent. It was the slow, heavy grace of someone who had surrendered utterly to pleasure and presence. Lucas crossed the room, wrapped his arms around her from behind, and rested his hands on the curve of her gut. It jutted out in front of her like a great, living altar—sagging, folding, warm. She leaned back into him, breathing in the scent of butter and cinnamon. “Do you feel it?” she whispered. He kissed her neck. “Feel what?” “All of it. The weight. The fullness. The life we built.” Lucas’s grip tightened. “Every second.” She turned to face him, belly pressing between them like a third body, heavy and soft and undeniable. Her cheeks were round, flushed from sleep. Her lips curled into a knowing grin. “I want to go further.” Lucas’s jaw dropped slightly, his breath catching in his throat. “You’re already—” “—I know.” Her voice was low, honeyed. “But I’m not done. I want to overflow even more. I want to keep growing until I need help getting out of bed. Until strangers stare. Until I can’t remember what it was like to fit.” He groaned, kissed her hard. “I’ll feed you every day. I’ll rub your belly when it aches. I’ll worship every new roll.” Her grin widened. “You already do.” --- Later that morning, Erin eased herself into her reinforced armchair—the one Lucas had modified with extra supports and a deeper cushion. She sank into it like royalty, her belly resting across her lap, her thighs filling the seat’s width entirely. Lucas brought her a tray stacked with pancakes, sausage, syrup-laced fruit, and cream. She began to eat. Slow. Intentional. Relentless. Lucas sat at her feet, eyes glazed with adoration. This was their life now: lazy mornings, belly kisses, love measured in bites and pounds and surrender. No guilt. No shame. Just more. Always more.

I was more thinking it would be 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕

You you describe how it gets on the way? 😉 Or better, show us.